


Through Sickness

by robinlikeitshot



Series: DC Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood - Fandom, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Being Sick Sucks, Coffee, Crying, Fever, Fluff, Headaches, M/M, Sickfic, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, non graphic throwing up, probably innaccurate medical stuff, probably ooc but you can pry soft boyfriend jason from my cold dead hands, soft jay, soft jaytim, spleenless child gets sick, themes of tim not really caring about his own health, unedited we die like robnis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28401489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinlikeitshot/pseuds/robinlikeitshot
Summary: Tim gets sick, but Jay's there to take care of him.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: DC Prompt Fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078127
Comments: 1
Kudos: 158





	Through Sickness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mizuphae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizuphae/gifts).



> mizuphae said:  
> congrats on 100 followers, Robin! How about some JayTim? Tim (that loveable idiot who has no spleen) is sick and Jason has to take care of him even though Tim is trying to fight recovery at all costs. It could be cracky or angsty (Tim is deathly sick and one of them is trying but failing to lighten the mood uwu)
> 
> i did a terrible job because i tried making it cracky and angsty at the same time because Yes but instead this got made. also as someone who hates being sick or injured and fights any and all rest orders, i feel this prompt on a spiritual level, which is why i wrote like 2k words on it lmao. AnYHow, i had a lot of fun writing this lol, and i hope you like it too!!

It’s after Tim’s come home from work (after Tam sent him home early because ‘you’re not looking too hot, boss’ or whatever), Jason just starting to get up from a night out as Gotham’s number one crimelord. The man had just bullied Tim into taking a thermometer test, after numerous protests from younger. 

“I’m not sick,” Tim grumbles for what seemed like the nth time, taking advantage of his boyfriend’s distraction to steal his bowl of cereal. “It was just a little warm outside today, probably rubbed off on me.” Tim knows that it doesn’t actually work like that, but that would mean confronting the fact that—

Jason sits back down next to him, eyes still glued to the thermometer readout. Before Tim can grab it from him and look by himself, he says, voice laced with concern, “You’re… You’re at 101°, Tim.”

The spoon clinks back into the bowl, and Tim pulls his hands back into his lap. Swallows, attempts a smile, though from the look on Jason’s face it might have come out as more of a grimace. “So, regular Tuesday then?” he laughs, before immediately wanting to take it back because Jay’s grimace only deepens.

“Tim, you don’t,” he drags a hand over his face, setting the thermometer back down on the table, “you don’t have a spleen. If it gets worse, this could be fatal.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, which is why, he thinks, Jason’s so upset over it. Because Tim could have taken care of himself a little better, but he—he hadn’t. Still, he turns slightly, fingers knotting together, closing his eyes against the strain behind his forehead, says, “I don’t know why you’re acting so worried, i’’s not like I haven’t always handled it on my own.” To give the man something of an out.

Jason doesn’t take it though, just gives Tim a small smile, the one he makes when he wants to say something but knows he shouldn’t. “I know, babe. But humor me?”

Shaking his head, Tim smiles back. “Why do I love you?”

Jason's laugh is perfect, warming him despite the shivers skittering over his skin.

~~~~~

Tim wakes up groggy and confused, the ache behind his eyes having become a steady pounding, and his skin freezing even under the blankets he's piled under. His mouth tastes something vile, nausea creeping up his throat.

It's safe to say he feels like shit. Weakly shoving the blankets off, Tim practically pulls himself off of the (warm, soft) bed, stumbling as he finds his footing. Before promptly tripping on the bedsheets he'd dragged down with him. "Ow."

"Tim?" Jason calls out, from somewhere to Tim's left. Could be the bathroom—everything's dizzy right now, though, so Tim's not sure. "Tim!" the voice calls out again, and instead of thumping his head back down on the floor like he so desperately wants to, Tim looks up.

"Jay! What—what's kickin', my guy?" he attempts weakly, taking shallow breaths in through his nose. 

He can see Jason sigh out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't pay him much attention with the bile crawling into the back of his mouth too much of a distraction. "For fucks sakes Tim, sit your ass back down," he says, careful hands cupping his elbows and lifting him from his Sad Tim Heap on the floor to the soft bed again. 

Tim would thank him, but the movement had stirred up his stomach too much, and when he does open his mouth its to throw up into the bucket Jason's already holding in front of him. "Jay..." he mutters, coughing a little as he pulls the bucket back, replacing it with a bottle of water that Tim gladly accepts. "Doesn't...doesn't feel good."

Jason sighs above him, setting the bucket down somewhere Tim can't see right now, before sitting down next to him, an arm coming to wrap around him. "I know baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his head as he drinks.

"Stay with me?" Tim asks, as he takes the bottle back, setting it on the nightstand. "Please?"

The man smiles, albeit a bit tiredly. "Of course, sweetheart."

~~~~~

Tim's still half unconscious when he wakes the second time, trying to bury himself in his pillow when the voice on the other side of the door just _doesn't shut up_. He considers throwing something at it, but he's even has the energy for that.

It takes a few minutes, but soon Tim registers the worried tones in the voice as Jason's. He can barely catch a few snippets, what with his own fogginess and the other's distance, but he still hears "not getting better....shivering....lucky he was able to keep the antibiotics down....delirious," before the door clicks closed and Tim can't hear anything at all.

Turning over, Tim pulls the pillow over his ears, drifting off again, hoping that the pain radiating through his body fades away along with his consciousness.

~~~~~

The third time he wakes up, the headache remains at the forefront of his mind, not letting him drift off again. The only solution is obvious.

Coffee. Judging by the number on his watch, it had been three days since he'd had his last cup, which was frankly unacceptable. So Tim pulls himself out of the nest of blankets, drags himself onto the cold floor, braces a hand on the bedside table, and starts shuffling his way to the door.

It takes him more than five minutes to finally reach the kitchen, what with the stumbling and the multiple breaks he has to take to reorient himself, but the solution for the immeasurably pain throbbing beneath his scalp is at the end of the road and Tim is a starving man.

Just his luck that Jason's standing over the stove when he finally pushes the door open and trips in. The man looks at him like he's grown a second head, rushing over to hold him up. "What are you doing here?" he gapes, eyes narrowing in worry.

Tim turns his desperate eyes to the machine sitting on the counter, just five steps away. Jason immediately recognizes the look, and responds by bodily picking him up and tucking his still blanket swathed self into his arms.

"H—hey!" His protests die out a little, though, when Jason crawls into bed after dumping him on it, holding him close. It soothes the chill under his skin, just a little.

~~~~~

"I want to go."

Jason eyes him from where he'd been suiting up, ready but for a few of his holsters and his helmet. He'd finally felt safe enough to patrol and leave Tim by himself for the night, but it was quickly becoming apparent that leaving Tim on his own had consequences enough on its own. "You're still running a fever, Tim. You don't have a spleen. You could literally die," he reminds, sounding a little tired after having to repeat it so many times.

Looking back out the window, Tim's frown tugs a little lower as his gaze catches on the roofs, the smog blanketing the moon, the city he _should_ be protecting. Maybe it's that guilt that prompts him to mumble, "So?"

Jason stills. Tim doesn't look at him, but he can see the way his whole body freezes at the word out of the corner of his eye. "You don't mean that," he says, almost a whisper, voice flat, blank.

Tim feels like shit, still feels guilty and upset, but hearing that _nothingness_ in Jason's voice immediately makes him feel bad. Burying his face in his hands, he shakes his head, "No, I...no I'm sorry, I'm just. I'm just tired, is all." ( _—and his head hurts. And his chest. And his skin feels like it's on_ fire _and he just wants to rip it off—)_

He sees Jason take a breath, gloved fingers skimming over the guns concealed in his jacket, as if reminding himself they were there. "Okay. Okay, but we're talking about this again, when you're feeling better, okay?"

Swallowing, Tim gives a short nod. "Fine."

Jason pulls on his helmet, turns to leave, but Tim can't help to call out, "Good—" hesitates because he's only ever seen the man's face go blank when he was trying to push back the green, "Goodnight, Jay."

He's wrapped in a hug before he can take another breath. "Goodnight, Tim," Jason murmurs into his hair, the press of his armor digging into Tim's cheek. Tim can't find it in himself to care.

When he pulls away again, unlatches the window and pulls out his grapple, Tim says, "Stay safe." Words that none of them would ever be able to follow, but he needs the assurance just the same.

Jason doesn't brush him off, just nods. "You too, Timbo." Then he's gone, and Tim's alone.

~~~~~

Tim is thirsty. Jason had stopped him again before he had even reached the mug cupboard though, carrying him back to bed amid his protests that coffee wouldn't even affect his recovery. But Tim's still kind of hungry.

Jason notices, by the way he doesn't immediately go back to sleep. "What is it, baby?" he asks, voice still raspy with sleep. 

He squirms slightly, not wanting to bother Jason when the man obviously needed his sleep. Hell, Tim hadn't done much _but_ sleep when this whole ordeal had started. But... "I'm uh, hungry," he admits, sheepishly.

A bit of the guilt lifts when he sees Jason positively light up, sitting back up immediately. "Soup!" he exclaims, before blushing a little at Tim's muffled snickers. "I mean, Alfred made some soup for you, I'll go defrost it."

If you were to ask Tim, he'd tell you that the two minutes in which Jason was gone were the two minutes that embodied the entirety of hell. Luckily the man comes back in soon, so Tim doesn't have to suffer for long. 

He can't help the groan when the bowl is set down on the bedside table, tipping his head back. "Fuck, that smells so good."

Jason smiles at him, "You can thank Alfred when you feel a bit better, baby." When Tim starts pulling his hand out of the blanket nest though, the man stops him. "Wait no," he protests, absurdly tucking Tim's hand back under the blanket, "I'll feed you."

Tim blinks for about two seconds before, "Yes."

And spoon by spoon, Jason feeds him Alfred's actually fantastic soup, and Tim... well, Tim eats it, partly for the delicious flavor but mainly for the way that Jason's smile seems to get bigger with every sip that he takes.

When the man makes to leave, to put the dish away in the kitchen that has now been expressly forbidden to him, Tim grabs his hand. "Yes, Timmy?" he asks, gentle and caring and so fucking sweet, just like he'd been the entire time Tim had spent burning up in bed.

"I—thank you, Jay."

Jason pauses for a second, setting the bowl back down, before a soft smile graces his perfect face. He doesn't say anything, just leans down to press a kiss to the top of Tim's head, before resting his head against Tim's own. They stay like that, for just a few moments.

~~~~~

Tim watches the blinking dots passively, holding his breath, Jason's hand heavy in his own.

He's been bedridden for two weeks, not even able to do casework with the pounding behind his eyes. He's had concern etched face and worried eyes following him from room to room, hell, he hasn't even been able to have coffee yet!

So Tim holds his breath, holds his breath and closes his eyes till- 

_Beep—_

The next thing he knows, his face is buried in Jason's shoulder, the man's arms tight around his waist. Tim squeezes right back, tipping his head back breathlessly. He... He's _okay_.

Except for, is Jason... shaking? Shit, he is—"Jay, are you, are you crying?" Tim asks hesitantly.

Jason gives a wet chuckle against his neck, following it up with a sniffle. "And what about it, asshole?"

A breathless laugh puffs out from his lips without his permission as he pulls back from the man's embrace, says, "Look at me, Jay. I'm okay. I'm _okay_."

Jason's eyes are red-rimmed when they skirt over his face. "You could have _died_ , Tim."

And it's starting to hit Tim, recently, about how much Jason cares about him, so he holds his boyfriend's hand, tugs him all the more closer as he says, "I know, but I didn't. I'm okay." Jason gives a rough laugh, going to wipe his still wet eyes, but Tim catches his wrist, moving up to plant a kiss on those full lips instead.

When he pulls back, Jason is smiling. "Thanks for being there for me, Jay," Tim whispers against his lips.

Jason's eyes soften, giving him another gentle kiss. "Always, Timmy."

**Author's Note:**

> requests are open till new years, tho i am not totally sure ill be able to finish them all till then lol


End file.
